crumpled and torn for texture
by roxas is LOVE
Summary: A collection of drabble and oneshots for my Roxas/Sora 50 prompts challenge. Ratings vary from PG to NC-17.
1. Breath

_Better Than a Lullaby_

Crestfallen and weary, with neither the grace of the moon to light his path nor the comfort of a hand to lead him, he ambles blindly through the darkness with little regard for the abandoned objects scattered over the floor. The air around him is thick with chagrin, and when the mattress dips under his weight as he carefully sits down, the silk bedcovers curl against his back empathetically. He's struggling to regain his composure, to piece together the torn and frayed tatters of his poise, but in the wake of a shattered amity and blatantly unrequited affections, all his efforts are in vain. There's a quivering cadence in his intake of breath, broken by the quake of his jaws. Inwardly, he gives thanks to any and all greater forces for the heavy blanket of night that surrounds him; the glittering trail of shame and regret on his cheeks have no moonlight to be caught in.

He doesn't feel their shift in position, doesn't hear the murmured groan of springs beneath them, but at the warmth that embraces him from behind, his only response is to trust it. Their arms snake around his waist like water, tight against his sides but too gentle for him to feel the squeeze. The press of their chest against his back sends shivers up his spine, that bitter chill that had stung his skin disappearing amidst their body heat. He gasps for breath and for the strength to collect himself, willing away the tears for sake of his boyish pride; self-resentment coiling in his chest like heartburn. In a surge of wanton need for support, a coalescence of all his hideously afflicted emotions, he leans against the provided support and allows his head to tilt back. The arms around him shift; a hand slides beneath his shirt unawares, falling lament for the time being whilst its counterpart rises to trace the tendon in his neck.

They close the small distance between his and their lips, establishing a placid rhythm for their movement. His bare skin, wherever they can reach, becomes the cynosure of their hands; they flex their fingers and ghost their short nails across his sensitive abdomen. With intimate knowledge that only he could know, they trail their fingertips over the side of his ribcage and prompt his body to tremble in response, yet he isn't at all surprised to discover that they know how to make him react however they want him to. It's all feather-light touches and slow kisses, nothing definitive and nothing sexually satisfying, but he knows that's the intention. They pull away and they nudge at his lips with their own, not quite a peck but more than a graze, and he can feel their warm breath enter his own mouth. The aftertaste of their tongue is a medley of salt and sugar and fruit, everything familiar and soothing to him; easing his state of mind steadily in a way that no one else is capable of.

And then he's lying on his side beneath the satin sheets, the enigmatic flow of time a trivial matter in his mind – his eyes are dry and heavy with somnolence, and so, in respect, he doesn't question it. His source of consolation is still tight against him, their arm curled around him protectively to remind him that he is not alone. Eyes fluttering close in defeat, he focuses on the measured movement of their chest against his back, and he can feel the brush of their breath against his neck with every even exhale.

**A/N:** "He" is Sora, and "They" is Roxas. Confusing, I know.


	2. Love

_Hello, Nobody Speaking_

Dear Sora,

To begin with, I've almost always hated you.

I've been at this school since kindergarten – just as long as you have. Do you have any idea how long that is? By the time we graduate in June, it'll be thirteen years. Time flies, right? But in this time frame of thirteen long and gruelling years at school, I think I can literally count how many times you've spoken to me on my fingers – and since I don't have thirteen fingers, that'd average it around _less than once per year_. But I understand, man, I really do. I mean, I'm just "that guy", right? We've been in the same class more years than not, but you just know too many people, and I just don't stand out. I'm only a shadow in comparison to you. A wallflower. A nobody. Why would you care about or even notice somebody like me? Like I said, I understand._ Really_.

That's the biggest difference between you and me. You can barely remember who I am, and I know almost everything about you. When I was younger, I wanted to introduce myself to you so badly; I wanted to meet you because I felt _drawn_ to you. You were so cool, even back then. Everyone wanted to be your friend, and I just wanted to know more about you. Little did I know that I wouldn't ever need to breathe a word to you to do that. That's exactly where we stand today: you being the social little butterfly that you are, and me being the blonde kid that never actually had the balls to walk up to you and say 'hello'. At some moment in time, one which I can't quite pinpoint exactly, I started to resent you, because not only was I too shy to talk to you, you were too oblivious to talk to _me_. And I believe that was how the hatred began.

Every time I see you, which seems to be every few horrible minutes, I notice the things about you that really make me tick. For example, you're always laughing in the hallways. Kairi's a freaking comedian, isn't she? I can hear you from my locker, and you're always grinning when I look at you; your eyes glitter with some kind of stupid childish charm, and you have that damn bounce in your step that drives me up the wall. People are always talking to you, and you always smile and reply graciously, because that's just the way you are. You're polite. It's so easy to see it in your face, to read you; you would never dare to ignore someone, because you wouldn't ever want to be rude. You're kind like that, I suppose. Enough so for everyone to like you, but not enough to notice people who don't jump out at you. I apologise for not being much of a jumper. I guess that's why you always pass by me like I'm just part of the furniture, and I'm left hating the way your eyes sparkle and your gait springs.

And here's another thing: I hate the way you help people all the time. When some moron gets into a fight, you somehow magically appear and cover their ass. Why? Why do you care if they get pummelled into a pulp? It's not like you're tight or anything. I think this just falls under the category of you being that type of person. You know, _nice_. It's just like how I hear you offering your homework or class notes to someone who missed them, even though they could probably just as easily get them off the teacher. I see you smile that stupid smile of yours, the one that's so bright and warm and annoying, and then you say something like, "It's no problem; I'm happy to lend a hand" or words to that effect. I just don't understand why you burden yourself with other people's problems, why you're always helping them just for the sake of helping them; why do you have to naturally be such a damn hero?

I see you every day at school – even if you don't see me – and that's not even the end of it. To make matters worse, you've found a way to weasel yourself into my _dreams_. There's just no escaping you! I've just known you for too long, and I just think about you too much; you're annoying even when you're not around. You're on my mind just about every bloody moment of my life, and I _hate_ it. I put so much energy into feeling the way I do about you, and you don't even notice me. I loathe you so badly, and you barely remember that I exist. Ironic, isn't it? I think about this all the time, but more so when I'm lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering how I'm supposed to catch your attention without throwing myself in front of you – or in front of a bus, because I know you'd somehow save me.

That was when I realised something. It tore me up inside and made me hate you even more, you jackass. I knew then that I had to write you this letter, because I decided that it was prime time that I tell you everything. Lying in my bed, about to fall asleep, I had an epiphany. A giant, ugly, cursed discovery that I wish I'd never stumbled upon.

I fucking love you, bitch.

Good luck figuring that one out.

- Roxas.


	3. Phone

_After the Tone_

_You have seven new messages._

_Message one, recorded at 4:47 PM, Friday._

"Hey Sora, it's me. Look, I know that we had plans tonight, but I can't make it. I'm real sorry; I can practically hear you cursing me out right about now. You can blame my sister for it, because we got into this fight – you know how it goes– and my folks grounded me because I'm supposed to be the older, more responsible one ... Whatever. They say I can't leave the house this weekend. Please don't hate me, baby. I promise to make it up to you at a later date. You can hold me to that, I swear.

"Later."

_Message two, recorded at 9:24 PM, Friday._

"Fuck, Sora, pick up the phone. Please, just listen to me! I can explain everything if you'll just give me the chance to. You left so quickly; I couldn't catch up with you, and you'd totally disappeared by the time I made it outside. I want to sort things out, Sora ... Can't we do this face to face? Please? At the very least, don't make me lay it out to you on the – wait, wait, let me rephrase that! Just ... Just hear me out, okay? I'm so sorry about everything. Please, give me the opportunity to tell you what really happened.

"So ... Call me back if you're willing to meet with me, okay? Please?"

_Message three, recorded at 10:01 PM, Friday._

"Okay, so ... I still haven't heard from you. I know you check this thing often, so I guess you don't want to see me right now. That's okay. I don't blame you. You have every right to dump my sorry ass and never speak to me again, but I'm hoping that you won't. Like ... you have no idea how badly I'm hoping. Think: Victoria Beckham hoping for a daughter. I seriously need you, Sora, and I can't express to you in words just how sorry I am. That's why I wanted to talk to you in person, but if you'll just pick up the phone, I'll take whatever I can get.

"I love you, baby."

_Message four, recorded at 10:52 PM, Friday._

"Come _ON_, Sora! What do I have to say or do just to get you to _talk _to me? I've already told you that I'm sorry. I'm really, really, truly, honestly, _absolutely _**sorry**! Why won't you believe me? Stop being silly; just pick up already. I don't want to be a dickhead and explain myself on an answering machine ...

"...

"... Fine. Okay. Call me soon."

_Message five, recorded at 11:58 PM, Friday._

"That's IT! I'm sick of waiting! If you're going to be such a fucking girl about all of this, then fine! Sit at home and watch Free Willy for all I care. Go cry your eyes out. ... _FUCK!_ I hate it when you go all pansy on me! Be a fucking man, Sora; grow some balls, already. So the fuck what if I lied about being grounded? What were _you_ doing in a nightclub, anyway? Huh? Answer _that_ one, Oh Mighty Lord of Innocence. ... _Man_, I'm so pissed off right now. This is all YOUR fault anyway! Yeah ... Yeah! I wouldn't have had to go sneaking around behind your back and getting fucked by my ex-boyfriend if _you_ weren't so prude and actually put out once in a while! So suck on that, bitch.

"You can blame yourself for all of this ... Hell, _I_ should blame you for making me have to resort to lies and secret rabbit sex on top of bench in a fucking _bathroom_! Yeah, try getting that image out of your head. Hah.

"To hell with explanations. Fuck you."

_Message six, recorded at 2:16 AM, Saturday._

"... Christ, Sora. I'm so sorry. I'm the biggest jackass in the entire fucking world. I feel like shit right now; I just want to die for what I've done to you ... for what I said. I take it all back ... I wish I could just eat my words. It wasn't your fault ... of course it wasn't ... No. I'm the only one to blame here. I'd always said that I'd wait for you, that you had all the time in the world ... I didn't want to rush you into something you weren't sure of just yet ... and then just look at what I did. I fucked up everything. I got impatient and you weren't showing any signs of letting up, so ... I don't even know what I was thinking anymore. Axel was just kind of ... there. I'm a pig, I know.

"I'm so sorry. If I could go back in time and set things right, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I'd sell my kidney – no, I'd shave my head – just to have a second chance ... to fix everything. Because, you know ... I meant it when I said I needed you. Even now, when I'm the last person you ever want to see again, the last person you ever want to hear say your name again, I want to be there with you. I ... I'm actually scared. I'm ... seriously fucking frightened that I've dug this hole for myself and I won't be able to get out.

"... I don't like this feeling ..."

_Message seven, recorded at 3:35 PM, Saturday._

"I've lost track of how many times I've called you, but I can't sleep. There's something in my stomach, and in my chest, and in my throat ... and whatever it is, it wants out. I think it's going to tear me apart. I just want you to know that my dying wish is to have my skateboard preserved. ... Sorry. I'm sorry; it's too soon for jokes. I _am_ serious, though ... about that feeling. I honestly can't sit still. I feel horrible. ... You don't have to forgive me, by the way. I don't actually expect you to. But ...

"... But I really do love you, Sora. So ... at least don't hate me forever; I want to be able to look you in the eyes one day.

"I think that's what I'm going to miss most: your eyes."

_End of messages_.


	4. Undecided

_Of Equal Strengths_

He distantly noted that he tasted like several fruits, and he questioned this in the back of his mind, as he was vaguely aware that neither one of them had eaten such a thing today. Their mouths moved together in what may have once been a slow and steady rhythm, but somewhere along the line had transformed into something far more hasty and slapdash. As Sora broke away long enough to regain his breath, he noticed the slightly sticky substance smeared on his lips and the skin around them, and he almost laughed when realisation dawned on him. The blonde that he was holding so close – and who was holding him so close – panted against his neck whilst trying to fill the pause with chaste kisses to the underside of his jaw. He could already feel the trace amounts of that same tackiness on his chin.

If their intentions weren't already obvious – what, with the lack of clothing and closed venetian blinds – then the way Sora's company pushed him flat on his back against the mattress made it so. Roxas took advantage of their former positions, having been kneeling, to settle in the space between Sora's legs that naturally formed as he lay back. The brunet, however, grunted in dismay as he straightened his knees from being uncomfortably bent under him, and shot the best reproachful glare that his half-lidded and glazed eyes would allow. Already pressing their hips together and rubbing against him, Roxas either didn't see the look his boyfriend was giving him, or intentionally chose to ignore it. "You're delusional if you think I'm on the bottom again," Sora muttered, quietly huffing in offense at being disregarded.

At this point, he could visibly see that Roxas was already itching for friction and heat and sex in general. There came a groan at the inevitable objection. "Not this again, Sora," he whimpered; his complaints always sounded whiny once he was so aroused. After a failed attempt to roll out from under him, Sora resorted to forcefully pushing the other back into a sitting position.

"Give me one good reason why I can't top," he replied firmly, set on getting his way. It seemed like an eternity since their positions had last switched.

"Because everyone knows that the more feminine one is always the receiver," was the response, and it didn't appease Sora in any way, shape, or form. In fact, it made him scowl at the generalisation. They were both still panting – and hard – but he had always had more patience and self-control than Roxas ever did.

"And you think that's me?" He questioned sceptically.

"Well, you _were_ wearing a pink shirt, dude."

After sparing an absent glance towards the various piles of clothes scattered on the bedroom floor, not all of which were his or possibly even from today, Sora pushed at the mouth that was tugging on his earlobe. "At least I don't wear lipstick!" He protested, his other hand moving to pry the fingers away from his nipple.

"It's not lipstick, Sora; it's lip _balm_. There's a _difference_." As if this settled the argument entirely, Roxas continued with his attentive actions; he kissed the side of Sora's mouth and trailed his fingertips down his abdomen. However, the older male wasn't satisfied with any of the answers that had been provided so far.

"I don't care. Watermelon and kiwi lips top pink polo shirts," he grumbled. Roxas finally paused long enough to survey him with a hard stare, and Sora watched as his nose wrinkled and eyebrows twitched as if they didn't know which emotion to portray, but he was aware of how his lips were pulled down into a definite frown.

"I'm not being bitch," he eventually spluttered indignantly.

"Well neither am I!"

A long silence promptly followed, and Sora decidedly defined it as somewhere between awkward and angry. But after a couple of minutes of nothing – no comments, no motions, no eye contact – Roxas was clearly ready to try his luck a second time, because he was leaning in to kiss him again; his hand unexpectedly pressed against the uppermost inside of Sora's thigh. Accepting it in spite of his resolve, Sora threaded his fingers through the other's hair, his eyes closing automatically. He heard a moan and smiled. However, when Roxas seemingly assumed that he'd forgotten all about his determination to be on top, Sora resisted against the hand that was pushing him onto his back again.

"I'm older than you are," he tried, but the blonde wouldn't have any of it.

"That counts for nothing," Roxas said, shaking his head. He poked Sora in the chest and earned himself a disgruntled growl. "You giggle."

"You cry at the end of The Notebook!" The brunet retaliated, concretely establishing a sort of back-and-forth squabble between them to prove who was more fitting to be on the bottom.

"That's a fucking sad movie, man!" The other insisted, "... I've heard you sing the Pokémon theme song in the shower."

"Hah! I've got you beat there, Roxy; you were dancing to a Hannah Montana song last Wednesday." Sora was visibly proud of his response, because he grinned as he watched his boyfriend's face darken with humiliation and defence.

"Honest to God, I will tie a rope around your balls until they fall off if you ever repeat that to anyone else."

Sora wrapped his arms around the other's waist and pulled him down, twisting mid-fall so that he could roll on top of him. He tried to kiss him to the best of his abilities, and although Roxas didn't struggle against him, Sora was smiling too brightly and keenly to make his lips move the way he wanted them too. But given how messy their kisses had been so far, neither of them really cared. Having switched positions by means of simply flipping them both over, he knew that he still had a leg on either side of Roxas, and he was now straddling his hips suggestively. Perhaps the blonde thought he'd won after all, because his expression changed yet again, and this time he appeared to be quite pleased with himself. Sora, on the other hand, had no intentions whatsoever of giving in that easily.

He moved up his body on his knees until he was directly above the upper part of Roxas' chest, and he smirked as he reached down to stroke his blonde spikes. Looking somewhat confused, Roxas merely watched with wary interest. Sora fisted his hand in the other's hair, gently tugging it up until he obliged and lifted his head, and then he lowered his hips enough to press the tip of his erection to Roxas' lips. Although he didn't obey the silent demand – because it was too forward to be a request – the slightly younger teenager evidently understood what was being asked of him – or told to him – because he pushed himself up into a sitting position against the headboard. Sora tried again now that their positions were more complementary; he rocked his hips forward. This time, instead of being met by unsuspecting and firmly closed lips, he felt the soft, wet heat of Roxas' mouth around the head of his penis.

"Ah, R-" Sora gasped, but he didn't manage to spit out the other's name. He was caught between the instinctive urge to tilt his head back and the want to look down and watch. In the end, he succumbed to the knee-jerk reaction and found himself staring at the ceiling for all of two seconds, before his eyes promptly shut to heighten his other senses. His fingers curled in Roxas' hair, eliciting a threatening growl from him as he pulled at it, but the vibrations from deep inside his throat only caused Sora to squeak and moan in ecstasy. Roxas had his hands positioned on the brunet's hips as a safety precaution, because he no doubt had a sneaking suspicion that he would try to buck into his mouth and choke him. It wouldn't be the first time, at any rate.

Chest heaving, Sora's lower body began to tremble with the efforts of maintaining his position; he unconsciously wanted to sit down to further stabilise himself. He finally managed to open his eyes and cast his gaze downwards, eager to observe Roxas' ministrations. A gurgling whine somehow rumbled from his throat at the sight. The blonde was – for some reason completely unbeknownst to Sora – blushing as he bobbed his head, and since his eyes were focused on the task at hand (or mouth), they looked like they were half-closed from Sora's perspective. He was gasping for breath by this point, and he swallowed shallowly to clear his mouth of the saliva that was pooling on his tongue. Transfixed, he couldn't look away from the rhythmic movement of Roxas' mouth, or more specifically, the way his erection steadily disappeared and reappeared between the other's red and intimately abused lips, and how his cheek swelled with every forward motion.

Much to his displeasure, Roxas seemed to simply glance up at his stomach when it tensed, and then he pulled away without a second thought. The intense heat and moisture of his mouth was gone within seconds, leaving a cold and not nearly as delightful kind of wetness in its absence. Sora voiced his contempt in the form of a rough grunt and whine, followed by a desperate attempt to get Roxas to finish what he started by pulling at his hair and guiding his mouth back to where it'd been. Unfortunately, the other just chuckled and turned his head away from his twitching erection. Roxas seized the control he had over Sora's hips by yanking him down to sit in his lap, but Sora tilted his head down and away when he tried to kiss him. Sulking in the wake of being left short of an orgasm, he only offered his cheek to the other's affectionate lips.

"I've got chest hair," Roxas stated upon discovering that he couldn't roll Sora onto his back again.

"You do not, you liar," Sora said, hitting his bare chest with a flat hand; he revelled in the smacking sound it made against his soft skin.

"Ouch!" Was the expected response, "What did you slap me for?"

Sora blamed the small part of him that was horribly vindictive, and Roxas deserved it anyway for leaving him hanging like he did. "You know why, jackass," he replied, smirking as he leaned forward to capture the other's bottom lip between his teeth.

--

One way or another, after each had turned the other over several times, Sora found himself above Roxas again, pinning him to the bed with his hands above his head. The blonde wriggled fruitlessly, but his attempts to squirm out of the cinch he was in did nothing back make Sora laugh.

"I-I'm too stubborn to be on the bottom!" Roxas explained, "And, besides, you're far too nice to make me do something I don't want to." He looked up at him curiously to see if that had done the trick, and Sora returned his gaze as he considered what had been said.

"Yeah ... You're right," he mumbled, and he let go of the boy's hands. Shuffling backwards, he ignored the combined expressions of confusion and triumph that were brightening up Roxas' face. But as he stepped off of the bed, they both promptly disappeared.

"What are you doing?" Roxas asked; Sora was sifting through the clothes idly with his foot.

"I'm too nice to make you do something that you don't want to, and you're too stubborn to be on the bottom," the brunet recited casually, "so I guess we're not getting anywhere, now are we? I think I might go make some tea. Would you like some?"

"But ..."

--

Sora was already at the top of the stairs, wearing nothing but Roxas' boxers – since he couldn't actually locate his own – and his necklace with the crown pendant, which he'd taken off prior to their session of essentially nothing in particular so that it wouldn't hit Roxas in the face at any given moment. He was just about to begin his descent when he heard the thunder-rumble of fumbling footsteps. Glancing over his shoulder just in time, he saw a flash of blonde before he was brutally knocked backwards and pressed against the wall. Suddenly, Roxas' mouth was nipping and sucking and kissing his neck, and he might have been confused if this kind of pace wasn't already something he'd come to expect of him. He wanted to push him away and complain, but Roxas was hard and steadfast, and it felt really good anyway. But Sora was confused, because he thought they'd met a rift, and what was to point of continuing something that wasn't going to amount to anything? So he said, "What—"

"Screw it; I want you so badly," Roxas interrupted, predicting what he was going to say. Sora frowned.

"I'm not going to be—" He started, but was stopped mid-sentenced by the hands that cupped his face abruptly.

"Just shut up and fuck me."

"Are—"

"Yes, yes, _yes_! Stop talking already and _just do it_."

Sora wondered if his boyfriend had maybe taken an aphrodisiac when he wasn't looking.

--

"Mm, _Sora_!"

They were on the floor on the landing, because they'd quickly discovered that having sex against a wall required far more effort than they were willing to provide, and Roxas thought the bedroom was just too typical and uninteresting by this point. Of course, there were already stains on the cream carpet from the lubrication and such that they would have a hard time explaining later, but Sora knew that Roxas would "accidentally" spill something like coffee or a ridiculous amount of nail polish on it before his parents came home. And they probably wouldn't even be surprised, because that was just the random kind of thing Roxas might do when left to his own devices. In the meantime, the blonde's legs were hooked over the nook in Sora's elbows, and Sora's hands were gripping his hips firmly.

Every time he thrust into him, regardless of whether or not he managed to brush against his prostate, Roxas would tremble and squirm and moan in such a way that he was nearly shouting nonsensical babble. It spurred Sora on. He was panting hard and pushing harder, watching as Roxas writhed beneath him and clawed at his upper arms and shoulders, but he couldn't see his eyes because they were squeezed shut. If his body didn't automatically close them, Sora preferred to keep his eyes open so that he could see the way his boyfriend reacted to things, and also because he always pulled a face when he orgasmed that drove him wild.

"S-S-S-Sor-_RA_!" Roxas shouted, his speech perforated by the jerk of his body with every push and pull. If he weren't so close to his own climax, Sora would have laughed at the peculiar strangled whine-slash-moan that Roxas emitted as he came. And when he did follow suit – which wasn't long after, thanks to the contractions and convulsions that Roxas' muscles underwent around him – he bit his lip to muffle the sounds he knew he'd make, but the panting mass of heat and sweat and euphoria beneath him punched him in the chest, and they all came tumbling out. Roxas' name was slurred and careless, but the boy himself appreciated it just as much, by the looks of it. He was grinning as he gasped for air.

Once the noise had died down and they were motionless, save for the way their chests heaved desperately, Sora let Roxas' legs fall to the floor. He noticed how he flinched at the movement. "Sorry," Sora muttered apologetically, pushing himself onto his hands and knees and shifting to lie on the ground beside him. Neither of them spoke again for a number of minutes; they just lay where they were whilst they tried to regulate their heartbeat.

Sora curled up against Roxas once he'd caught his breath, resting his head on his chest and drawing intricate patterns on his messy stomach with his index finger; he didn't care if it was slick with drying semen or cooling sweat. The blonde wrapped an arm around him lazily, hugging him to his side, and Sora kissed his skin with the corner of his mouth.

"Next time—" Roxas began, but a soft hissing sound courtesy of Sora hushed him.

"Next time, we'll just draw straws," Sora finished, and he smiled as the blonde shifted around him to lie on his side, arms tight around him, and placed a quick peck on his forehead.


	5. Home

_Sweeter Dreams_

When I was a kid, my friends and I dreamed of travelling to places we'd never seen nor heard of, because the island on which we were born and raised was quickly becoming rather lacklustre in our eager young eyes. The cool sea breeze was to be expected, and at this point it's safe to say that we took it for granted, but I didn't quite realise the advantage of it until it was no longer there. The pineapples were somewhat bland, because after you've eaten your weight in them a number of times throughout the course of your life, they're far more ordinary than someone from a more metropolitan neighbourhood might argue. And I think the most underappreciated aspect of my island home would be the sound of waves gently breaking in the shallows on calm nights.

I have learned this the hard way.

Eighteen years old and finally able to escape without my mother's consent, I boarded a train with the intention of visiting my long-distance boyfriend for the weekend. He lives in an urban town: something I'm not too familiar with. We met when he and his friends decided to come to our beach one day, because his parents don't care too much about how far from home he strays, just as long as he returns in due time. I've always envied him for the freedom he was granted, but I wouldn't ever have wished that he was revoked of it; his mostly weekly visits to Destiny Islands would cease entirely if that were the case. Then, not only would I have been a caged bird, I'd have been a lonely one at that.

But now I'm here, at his flat. I'd imagined it for quite a while, and I can't say that it's much different than what I envisioned; it's just the same as every other apartment in Twilight Town, and for the record, real estate websites can give you a pretty good idea. My boyfriend may not know it, but I'm rather fond of research. Said investigation, however, never mentioned that you can't hear waves lapping at the shore as you fall asleep. I should have been able to figure that one out on my own, but it just never occurred to me; all my life it'd been my own personal lullaby, and at some point it became white noise in the background that I was unwittingly dependent on. Regardless of whether or not there was a beach nearby, I may have just assumed that such a sound was common no matter where you resided.

Well, clearly it's not, and this is the basis on which my theory of my insomnia was built.

Roxas is curled tight against me, his arms around my middle and his chest pressed to my back, and I think I can feel his breath against the sleeve of my t-shirt. He's sleeping, and that's another thing that I lovingly envy him for. I wonder if I can wake him and beg him to stay awake with me, if only so that I don't lose myself in this silence. Occasionally I can hear a car driving along the street outside, but my favourite blonde's apartment is rather high up in the building, and so the sound is faint and provides very little solace. I try to concentrate on his breathing, because every so often he gives a little airy snore or mumble, but as much as I love him, I can't honestly say that his sleeping noises can even hold a candle to my island waves.

And now I'm torn, because I want to be with Roxy at every given opportunity, but I also want to go home. It wouldn't be fair to continue to ask him to pack his things and endure a two hour train ride every weekend now that I'm old enough to make the journey myself. He's been doing it without complaint because he's a sweet guy, but how much more can I ask of him before I become a burden? I love him, but I realise now that I also love my home just as much, and although being away from it is a part of growing up, maybe I'm just not as ready for it as I used to think I was. I know Roxas would understand, but I feel awful for taking advantage of his good nature.

I must have made a somewhat distressed sound without meaning to, because Roxas is making a soft hushing noise to either console me or quieten me. I arch my back a little to press against him, and he returns the affection by squeezing me tighter. Before I can even open my mouth to apologise or to voice my concerns or to do whatever it was I was initially going to, I feel him press a small kiss on my shoulder with the corner of his mouth. It makes me smile. I wonder if he's glad I'm here, in his apartment, in his bed – as opposed to him being in my house, in my bed.

... On my island

He fell back asleep, so I guess I won't really know unless I choose to ask him later. Meanwhile, I wonder how I'm supposed to remedy my problem, which at two o'clock in the morning seems pretty important, but later I'll probably realise that it's a lot more trivial in daylight.

An idea comes to mind, and I think I might actually know how to combine the best of both worlds – or towns, I should say. I prefer to be where things are familiar, but continually bringing Roxas to the island will eventually become tedious for him, and since I'm uncomfortable in his urban home of Twilight Town, the only obvious answer would be to bring the island to him. So, with this thought, I gently bring my arm back to nudge the blonde in the ribs with my elbow. He stirs, and I take this to mean that he woke up, so I whisper, "Can you buy sound machines anywhere in this town?"


End file.
